


it's the ginger in ginger ale that does it, jackass

by theartisticfool



Series: held by a thread: a number of 5ds belly-focused kinkfics [3]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's
Genre: Belly Kink, Gen, Stuffing, Yuusei Makes Mistakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 16:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18641392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theartisticfool/pseuds/theartisticfool
Summary: It isn't difficult for Yuusei to overeat, but he has some tune-up work to do, and he'd like for that to take priority over any kind of stomach ache. He's still too goddamn stupid to know that Not Every Kind Of Soda helps with nausea, though.(alt. title: it's Real Dumbass Hours)





	it's the ginger in ginger ale that does it, jackass

**Author's Note:**

> YOU ALL PROBABLY THOUGHT I WAS DONE AND GONE HUH  
> guess again i'm back on my bullshit!!!
> 
> Really, though, hello! My name's Daniel - or ep, or Harald, or any of the billion other names I've gone by in the past few years - and I used to regularly write 5Ds fics back in the day when I actually had a drive. That drive's all but halted over the past few years, but I decided to suck it up and try cranking something out this week! For being a little rusty, I'm kind of proud of it. Hopefully you'll like it if you've clicked on this!
> 
> Anyway I know literally no one asked for this but y'all are gonna receive it anyway. Enjoy.

Yuusei Fudo would not describe himself as a person of decadence.

He’s always cared little for excess beyond what things contain sentiment value; his bike and deck may as well be essential belongings to him. He’s never been one to overindulge in anything except his own work, as anyone who’s ever lived with him could attest. Small luxuries he can afford to have now that he has a job - some good soap, more than anything - are about all he bothers to partake in, and even then only to the degree of being  _just enough_. He’s never eaten much, never worn much, never owned much. Living in Neo Domino hadn’t changed that about him.

And yet.

And  _yet_ , here he is sitting in the seat of his d-wheel with a small screwdriver in his hand, picking at the inner workings of its dashboard, trying to focus on anything but the dull ache in his gut. With Jack staying the night at Carly’s apartment and Crow off to visit the kids, Yuusei had only needed to make dinner for himself, and though he’d filled himself up appropriately on pasta at first, he had figured there wouldn’t be enough left over for anyone to take interest in finishing it off on their own, so he’d gone ahead and eaten it so it wouldn’t go to waste...

Well, may as well regret that now.

He has better things to do than nurse an upset stomach, is all. A simple dashboard check may not be the most complex way he can tend to his d-wheel, but he’d rather devote the time he has with Jack and Crow to developing their new engine program, so he has to take care of the little things while he’s alone. It isn’t much, but he’s committed to doing it now, difficulty in leaning forward be damned. Even so, he flinches when a soft gurgle rolls in his belly, as if  _insisting_  that he can’t work like this.

His belt is starting to hurt, what with it digging into his abdomen like this. Yuusei sits up straight; sure, a break wouldn’t hurt, just for a moment.

It’s everything he can do not to fucking  _sigh_  in relief.

He takes a deep breath and exhales through a chewed lip, running a hand through his hair and down his face as he finally acknowledges just how bad of a mistake he’s managed to make. This is ridiculous, and even a little nauseating the longer he sits here in the heat of the overhead light...

His stomach pushes lazily against his shirt and the rim of his pants with every breath, just a  _little_  more than usual, he’s sure. He hadn’t eaten too much more, after all, and yet still he’s feeling absolutely stuffed, probably because he couldn’t afford to have a consistent appetite back in Satellite. How the times have changed.

And he’s still not used to it.

He throws a quick glance around the garage, his eyes eventually resting on his belly once again. Zora should be asleep by now, the front door is locked, and his brothers shouldn’t be returning until morning...

Yuusei grimaces and shakes himself back into tinkering with the dashboard, sipping at a glass of water to keep the nausea at a minimum. It’s not  _that_  bad, give himself a break. Just... get through this...

To his credit, the water does seem to help him keep everything down, easing his stomach’s discomfort just enough so that he can focus on taking care of the matter at hand and hopefully head to bed to sleep this all off. It feels noticeably cold when it settles inside of him at first; if it wasn’t such a fleeting, repetitive sensation, he might’ve found it distracting. Alas, by the time the tall cup is empty, he’s done with the dashboard, and he sits up to retrieve the panel so he can screw it back into place.

‘Just add water’ is not, as it turns out, a perfect solution to this kind of problem, evident by the deep groan following a hefty slosh in his middle as he moves. It’s more than enough to draw a groan out of Yuusei himself as he reflexively brings a hand to each his mouth and belly. He swallows thickly, gritting his teeth to fight down that dogged sickness, and slumps into the backrest of his d-wheel to give his gut some much-needed space. Reducing the pressure he puts on it... is a good first step, if nothing else.

It’s not even that much. All his mind can come back to is how there isn’t even that much food in his stomach, and yet he’s still feeling full and sick. The hand covering his mouth shifts back up to his hair, and though he isn’t sure he wants to add even the weight of his hand on his middle, there’s a certain unpleasantness in moving it away. His fingers gently spread out over its surface as he slowly slides his palm up toward his chest. He feels a slight arc along its path; is his body really so unequipped to deal with this kind of thing?

Another dissatisfied gurgle rumbles through Yuusei’s abdomen, and he closes his eyes with a huff. Do they have anything to quell nausea...?

...eventually, he slips off of his bike and pads over to the kitchen, careful not to walk too unevenly and accidentally jostle himself. He wants nothing less than to put  _anything else_  inside of him right now, but supposedly, soda helps to calm a queasy stomach, and he has no better idea of how to handle it.

This will end poorly and he knows it.

Admittedly, this is largely just hearsay as far as he knows. Like many things, soda was a luxury in Satellite that most couldn’t afford; it wasn’t exactly known for its effectiveness as a sickness cure when there were other, more plentiful things around to deal with it. He doesn’t believe Zora just has some mint around, though, so off to the fridge he goes, and back with a two-litre he comes. He has no metric for how much one typically needs to drink in order to feel better, so he may as well have a bunch left and feel better instead of getting up a bunch and feeling worse.

He sits back down on his d-wheel, pours himself a cup, and takes a sip. At least it tastes good.

Slowly, Yuusei downs the glass, cringing as his stomach produces more upset noises while he swears he can feel bubbles along its walls. He pours himself another before reaching for the dashboard pane to screw it back in place; the fullness of his gut is still horribly uncomfortable when he leans over, and his drink sure as hell hasn’t changed  _that_. Perhaps he just needs to give it some time, though.

Whatever. The pane is replaced and sealed quickly enough, and the mainframe boots just fine. His second cup is consumed.

By this point he’s beginning to doubt the validity of his decisions, a small burp trickling its way out of his throat. His free hand moves to his belly again, and he swears it feels more swollen than a moment ago. That’s not so surprising, he reasons, given that he’s only been putting more in there. Despite this, he’s willing to give it a little more time, so he pours himself some more pop and finishes it fairly quickly, swallowing liberally to get it all down. The inside of his chest burns.

Maybe this was a bad idea, Yuusei wonders, his consideration punctuated by a loud burp. He stiffens, a bit startled by the noise, only to slouch and sigh again.  _Damn_  did that feel good, though...

It almost feels hard to breathe with how tightly his middle fights against his belt. No one’s gonna come in at this hour; he’ll be all alone for the entire night. Another sigh escapes his lips as he lets his head hang, and with some vague sense of defeat, he undoes his belt and pants to give his stomach more room.

He feels almost embarrassed by how much that seems to help. His vague sense of illness did in fact seem to lessen the longer the soda stewed in his belly (though whether the soda actually did anything or he just started to get over it himself is debatable), but his abdomen no longer being squeezed rids him of his initial nausea entirely. He’s certainly still  _really full_ , but when he doesn’t feel like he’s going to vomit, it’s tolerable. His hand runs over the surface of his bloated middle, reaching under his shirt with a downward glance and a bite of the lip; that extra space let it expand a little more, he thinks.

He leans back again, continuing to rub his stomach while throwing a look to the soda bottle, about half-full now. This is almost-- no, it  _is_ comfortable, he dares to claim, another burp heralded by a louder, deeper gurgle. He’s sure he can’t fit much more, and he knows he shouldn’t push himself or he  _will_  make himself sick, and yet...

Ah, fuck it, he can’t help himself. Yuusei reaches for the soda bottle and takes a sip straight from it. He’s allowed to have this one nice thing. (Is it really a “nice thing” to him?)

It’s fizzier like this than it feels in the cup, he finds, though he supposes he isn’t surprised given there’s no secondary exchange of vessels. It tickles the back of his throat, and he jolts a little when another burp quickly forces its way up from his belly. That’s just more room for something of substance, he reasons.

A whole other litre is... quite a lot, he thinks to himself as he indulges in a longer drink. He doesn’t see himself as the overly-ambitious type when it comes to silly little things like this, but there’s a particular compulsion to give finishing it a shot anyway; and so when he pauses to catch a breath, he keeps the bottle pressed to his lips to continue right when he’s ready, swinging his feet up onto the front shell of his d-wheel.

That burning in his chest returns quickly in this attempt to down the rest in one go, for even when he tries to take his time, there simply isn’t enough space between gulps to give his esophagus a rest. He nearly coughs, but he tries to push through anyway. There’s only about a fourth of the bottle left, surely he can...

Time proves, however, that he in fact  _can’t_. With every swallow his abdomen fills out more, and it’s around this point that he can distinctly feel it stretching under his skin, too. He stops to take another breath, but he finds a great difficulty in it, feeling as though he’ll cough up some of the soda with every exhale he takes simply because there isn’t enough room in his stomach. He leans up just enough to remove the bottle from his lips, and he sets it aside. He has to stop.

Yuusei groans and belches loud, closing his eyes and rubbing his swollen belly with laboured breaths. It’s soft and somewhat round, a dome against his otherwise-lean figure, and his touches against it are more vivid than he could’ve expected. He obviously failed in his foolish, self-imposed task, but he still packed quite a lot into himself, and there’s a certain sense of... pride that he gains from that. It’s so  _pointless_ , this whole endeavour, and yet he can’t help but laugh and grin when he has a break between moments of - once again - feeling like he’s going to puke. At least he did this one on purpose, and though he can barely breathe and his gut throbs with a dull pain, it’s that same heaviness paired with low, ever-present gurgles that lulls him to sleep right there on his bike.

Yuusei Fudo would not describe himself as a person of decadence, but maybe some harmless overindulgence every now and again... is good for him.

 

* * *

 

Jack Atlas did not expect company on the Neo Daedalus Bridge, but company did he receive anyway. He hadn’t told anyone where he would be, nor did he really have anyone in the city that would be interested enough in him to seek him out at this time of morning. Dawn had only just broke across the sea, filling the sky with cream and crimson. Even so, expecting company or not, the softening purr of an engine and the mechanical whirr of retracting parts behind him clue him in on his visitor.

“I didn’t think you usually come out here,” he comments over his shoulder as Crow approaches, leaning against the guardrail to gaze at the vast painted mirror below.

“I figured  _you_  would be here,” is Crow’s immediate response. A beat follows, his lips pursed in hesitance.

“So...”

“You been home yet?”

Jack’s lips curl into a mirth-filled smirk, and he rests his own weight against the rail to meet Crow’s eyes. “You saw him too, huh?”

“He’s just...” Crow outright giggles. “He just fell asleep like that, huh? Wonder what he was doing.”

“Hard to say. His pants were still  _on_ , to his credit.”

The redhead laughs and hops up onto the rail, swinging his legs over toward the sea. “You think we should ask him?”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

“Should we at least  _wake_  him?”

Jack frowns. “Then he’d know we know.”

“True.”

Jack flips his helmet between his hands. “I got pictures.”

Crow looks incredulous. “ _Did_ you?”

He nods. “Gonna send them to Carly.”

“You aren’t!”

“I am. I’ll just forget that I have them if I don’t.”

“She’ll go post them somewhere or something.”

“Not if she wants me to keep coming over, she won’t. Besides, a journalist knows how to blackmail.”

Crow snorts and removes his own helmet, shaking his hair out into the wind. “What on earth would you need to blackmail  _Yuusei_  for?”

“Dunno, that’s why I’m saving them.”

“Yeah, alright."

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this was going to be more heavily based on some of the experiences I've had with accidentally overeating and the One (1) time I drank entirely too much, but I didn't really wanna write Yuusei actually getting sick and instead opted for a more feels-good-in-the-end style of fic. But that's my dirty secret, in any case.
> 
> I also kinda feel like I purposely used as few tags as possible, mostly cause I'm sick of the sheer number of Text Walls in the 5Ds tag. Whoops. Sorry if you didn't expect Jack and Crow to be there; they weren't relevant to the majority of the fic, though, so.
> 
> The exchange between Jack and Crow was added as a last-minute consideration, on the subject, and I feel a little bad that it increased the page length by a considerable amount. It feels deceptive since none of that exchange is directly kink-related. Will it turn into a hook for a future fic? If enough people like this, then hell, maybe.
> 
> Anyway, let me know if you liked it, what you liked, etc. It's always nice to hear when someone appreciates what I make!


End file.
